Masquerade
by DeniseV
Summary: It's Vin's turn, but Ezra's still worried.


"Mistah Tanner?" There was a short pause, followed by, "Vin? Please come out."

"No."

"Ah understand your reluctance, but we have been up here for over an hour. You do remember that Ah was forced to do precisely the same thing … "

"No ya weren't."

"Why yes Ah was. Mah pride vividly recalls the masquerade, the dress … "

"Ezra, you were actin' as a diversion so we could get Mary out o' Wickstown."

"The reason is neither here nor there."

"Means somethin' ta me."

The silence that followed said everything about Vin Tanner's intentions and Ezra Standish's lack of success. "That went well," Ezra said under his breath as he prepared to leave the suite across and down the hall from his own room above the saloon. It appeared that he would have to send in the big guns. As he reached the door, he turned and said, "Do not remove that dress, Mistah Tanner. We had a deal."

"Go ahead and send Chris. The answer's the same," the tracker called from the adjoining room of the suite.

"We'll see about that," Ezra muttered as he opened the door and then slammed it shut.

* * *

"Uh-oh," Buck Wilmington said, followed by, "you best finish up that beer old pard. Sounds like you're next."

Chris Larabee stared at his longtime friend. "Not exactly sure how you have the nerve to open your mouth, Buck. This is all your fault."

"My fault?" They all heard the staccato beat of Ezra's boots as he stormed down the staircase.

"Yep," Josiah Sanchez said. "We could have gotten one of the ladies who looked like her to help. They would o' done it, too, except you got 'em all mad," the former preacher said. It wasn't like they would have let one of the ladies do something that could put them in danger, but it was fun playing with Buck this way.

"And now Casey's payin' the price," J.D. said worriedly.

"Now, fellas, that wasn't my fault. I told ya what happened," the ladies' man tried to explain. He'd already been through the events that led up to the mustachioed man being persona non grata at the doors and in the beds of the ladies out at Miller's.

"It don't matter," J.D. said, his innate energy combining with his agitation making him appear near-combustible.

"Mistah Larabee," Ezra inadvertently interrupted as he took the final step down from the staircase. "He is all yours," the gambler said as he strode straight for behind the bar, retrieved _his_ bottle of Kentucky bourbon and a clean glass, then took himself over to his regular seat at his table. He poured one shot, downed it in one swallow, then poured another, did the same with that one, then poured a third, this time savoring the first sip before downing the rest.

"What did he say?" Chris asked. "And don't get drunk. We still have work to do."

Ezra ignored the edict and answered the question, sort of. "It matters not what that reprobate has to say. And Ah would suggest taking yourself up there before Mistah Tanner removes his costume."

Chris could see he wasn't going to get much more information out of Ezra. And they were wasting time, running out of time. They all knew it. Ezra had been up there far longer than the thirty minutes he thought it might take, based on how long it had taken him to get into a similar outfit three years before. Buck knew they were running out of time, but the next thing out of his mouth was exactly the wrong thing to say to move them toward their goal.

"Ezra, why don't you just do it? Ya did it before."

"As Ah know that you are joking, Ah shall ignore your … ignorance." Ezra poured himself another drink.

"Ezra," Josiah said in warning. Ezra downed his drink.

"Ignorance?" Buck asked, insulted. "Whaddya mean _ignorance_?"

"Ah have no doubt that the lovely Missus Travis would be pleased to loan you her dictionary for your edification." The former con man poured himself another drink, knocking it back angrily. And then he poured himself another, sensing that his boss would be confiscating his bottle soon enough.

Chris looked at the aggravated southerner. The leader of the seven men who protected their town was impressed that Ezra had gotten as far as he had: Vin was in the dress. But Buck was right, this would all be so much easier and resolved so much faster if Ezra would just give in and do it. Chris watched as Ezra downed his third – or was it his fourth … fifth? – shot of bourbon. This wouldn't work if Ezra was drunk as a skunk.

The lean, tall blond grabbed the bottle of liquor and started, "Ezra," but that was as far as he got.

Ezra remained calm as his bottle was removed from his reach. "There is not one thing, Chris, that you could possibly promise me that would convince me to don a dress again. No suh. At least not until each and every one of our brethren has taken their turn. As three years have passed since that fateful day in Wickstown when Ah was forced to do the deed, Ah figure that, accordin' to mah arithmetic, if we are, on average, having to do this once every three years, though one wonders what precisely is wrong with a town where its all-male law enforcement is dressin' as women every three years, Ah will not have another opportunity thrown mah way for, accordin' to mah arithmetic … " he paused, realizing that he'd heard himself say that part already, feeling a bit numb from all those drinks on an empty stomach, "for eighteen years." Ezra lifted his glass, said, "Cheers," and downed what was, according to Chris apparently, his last shot, for now.

Chris headed up the stairs. In moments, they heard the door slam.

"Wake me when we are ready to pounce," Ezra said as he lay his arms on the table and rested his head.

* * *

"You're doin' it. Now let's go."

"Why this way?" Vin pleaded. He put his hand up to his curled-like-a-woman mane and flipped the hair in frustration.

"Your hair is pretty, all done up like that," Chris said. He saw Vin's face and realized the terrible tactical error he had just made.

"Larabee, you ever say anything like that ta me again, and I will kick your ass." Vin reached around his back to try to undo the buttons. Chris reached and pulled one of his friend's arms back to the front.

"Stop that. Can't see this ever comin' up again. Come on."

"This is stupid. We need to figure out better ways than makin' any of us do this again."

"That's what Ezra said."

"That so?" Vin asked. "He was stuffin' me in this dress like he was enjoyin' it."

"He probably was." Vin looked prepared to punch his fellow lawman in the face. "I mean, he was happy that it was you and not him." Vin's anger was echoing through the room, heating it up better than any wood stove at the end of January could. "He also said that we should take turns if this is the best we can come up with. Just think, though, based on Ezra's math and if we do this every three years, you won't have to do it again for twenty-one years."

Vin's square jaw seemed to grow more square as he held back from throwing that fist he _so_ wanted to throw at someone. "Let's get this over with."

Vin and Chris descended the stairs.

"Wow, look at that," J.D. said. "This'll work. His hair, it looks just like the way Casey's been wearin' hers lately."

"Thank you," Ezra said with his head still pillowed in his arms, accepting the compliment, as he had been the one behind the hair and make-up and selection of the plain dress. The make-up was needed, as the man who held Casey Wells until his woman arrived back from Eagle Bend, which was the ruse they were attempting to pull off, would recognize that it was not his Ruth without the overdone eye make-up and the too-red lipstick.

"Come on," Vin said and he stomped to the batwing doors.

"A lady," Ezra warned. "You must walk like a lady or you will project the deception well before you arrive at the Pike's door."

Martin Forsythe had gone pretty near crazy when his favorite girl from Miller's bordello left with _her_ favorite customer and headed to California. His delusion that the woman loved him and would become his bride had caused him to snap this morning and take Casey Wells hostage at Ben and Dottie Pike's grocery, formerly Bucklin's, at the south side of town, near the church. The Seven had been talking with the man through the front door after he allowed the Pikes to leave. Dottie had relayed what the man wanted, which was simply to leave town … with Casey.

That was never going to happen.

The Seven had convinced the man to remain put while they rode out to bring Ruth back. The fact that Ruth was likely halfway to the coast with her man was lost on the delusional man. It was precisely that delusion which made him so dangerous. A delicate touch was needed; Casey Wells was like family to all of the peacekeepers, but most especially to one of them. When one of their number was challenged, all of them were.

Vin adjusted his stride. He walked through to the saloon's boardwalk and Chris followed, then stepped up beside the tracker and took his elbow, assisting "her" along the boardwalk toward the grocery.

"Come on, Ez. We're headin' out," Buck said. The former Texas Ranger was followed by J.D. They crossed the street and headed in the same direction as Chris and Vin. Nathan and Josiah went out the back, trailed by the wobbly gambler.

As Chris and Vin reached the steps in front of Pike's grocery, a voice was heard through the door.

"Ruth? Ruthie, is that you?"

Chris waited for Vin to respond. There was no response. The former gunslinger put his hand behind his dressed-up friend and patted him on the back, encouraging him to speak. Vin remained mum. Chris tried to grab through the cloth to pinch Vin into action, but couldn't use that tactic ... he couldn't grab through the many layers. He growled through clenched teeth, "Answer him."

And Vin tried. "Yes."

"What was that?" Nathan asked.

"Was it a chicken?" Josiah asked.

"Good lord. Tha' was Vin, attemptin' a woman's voice," Ezra slurred through too much drink.

"Ruthie? Are you sick?" Forsythe asked.

"Yes."

"Vin," Chris said softly so that only the man standing next to him could hear, "he ain't gonna believe you're Ruth if you keep just sayin' 'yes'."

Vin grunted in frustration and tried again, "I have a cold."

Chris shook his head faintly.

"This ain't workin', Buck," J.D. said. "He hardly sounds any different from normal."

"He ain't foolin' anybody," Buck agreed.

At the side of the old Bucklin's Grocery, Ezra walked away from his two partners and headed for the door.

"Ezra," Nathan called as quietly as possible.

"Shit," Josiah added as he tried to grab the card sharp. But Ezra had made his move far too fast for anyone to stop him. As he made the turn and took the step up to the boardwalk, he raised one hand to his head and grabbed quickly for the wall with the other.

"What the hell?" Buck said.

"Oh, no," Vin said softly.

Ezra's dizziness did not resolve itself, but he knew he had only moments to act. He dropped stealthily to his hands and knees, then crab walked to the door. He looked to Chris and waved to him to continue talking.

"Martin, Ruth seems to have caught a cold, or laryngitis or somethin'," Chris said as he looked disgustedly at Vin. "Let me bring her over to you."

Ezra looked over in shock, mouthed 'No!' and shook his head, which caused him to experience the dizziness from too much bourbon in too short a time, full force. He was going to throw up, he knew it, but he had a job to do first. He made himself as small as he could to avoid detection from the man who was obviously looking out the window. Ezra decided that the dust that had accumulated on the window during the last winter storm, which the very busy family who ran the grocery had not had time to clean with all of the other excessive wind they had experienced this winter, was working to their advantage. Forsythe wouldn't be able to see Ezra and he hadn't gotten a very good look at Vin/Ruthie.

As flexible and as quick as everyone knew the southerner to be, what happened next surprised them all. Ezra made himself as small as anyone had ever seen, almost a perfect ball, his back on the boardwalk, his knees and legs raised well over his head. And then he kicked the door in, rolling like a ball into the building. His friends followed behind as fast as they could. When they reached the threshold, they found Casey in the far corner, tied to a chair. J.D. ran to her. Ezra and Forsythe were going at it, but the man who had been holding Casey for hours seemed more interested in looking out the door to find his "Ruthie" than fighting this fight. Ezra was by no means winning the fight. At best, with the gambler's wobbly legs and otherwise drunken self, he was just holding his own. Forsythe had his gun drawn.

Vin stepped up and Forsythe said, "Ruthie!" That just made the embarrassed former bounty hunter angrier than he already was.

"No," he answered, and then let loose with the hardest right-handed punch any of them recalled ever seeing.

Ezra's eyes grew wide. "Knockout," he said, "and Ah do no' mean you in tha' dress, Vin," he added before he crawled over to the door, only making it over the doorway and onto the boardwalk before he started heaving.

"You definitely pulled it off better'n me, Ez," Vin said as he ushered J.D. and Casey out the door. The young couple stepped over Ezra's legs, which blocked the way onto the boardwalk.

"There is … " Ezra said as he dry heaved following his initial bout of sickness, "no doubt … " another unproductive spasm, "about that," the gambler finished, finally spewing another impressive amount bourbon and stomach juices onto the hard wooden floor outside the grocery.

Vin waited to see who would be helping him get his drunken friend back to his room. He would keep his distance, for now. The dress was borrowed, after all.

* * *

Chris walked up to Ezra's door. When they got the inebriated man up to his room earlier, Vin gathered up all his weaponry and placed it in the closet. There was little chance that Ezra was awake yet, but Chris felt the need to check on him anyway.

He stepped in and found Ezra leaning over the bed, his hand laying on the edge of the bucket Nathan left for him.

"You been sick?" the leader of The Magnificent Seven asked.

"No. Just thinkin' ahead."

Chris grabbed Ezra's comfy rocking chair and set it by his bed, facing the gambler, and sat down. "Maybe you should've been more forward-thinking when you were enjoying all that bourbon earlier."

"Ugh. Ah doubt Ah will ever _enjoy_ bourbon again."

"Why'd ya do it?"

"Ah don't know."

"I think ya do."

"Then Ah guess Ah don't remembah."

Chris looked at the miserable poker player and then made to rise from his chair. "All right. Sleep it off."

"Chris."

"Yeah," the blond said, sitting back in his seat.

"Ah believe what got me to drinking was thinking that Ah was goin' to be asked, once more, to sacrifice. That you would make me, against mah will, wear that loathesome dress. That Ah was back where Ah was three years ago, havin' no say, no respect. Ah really thought that Ah … that we had moved on from where we were then."

"I figured it was something like that. Look, Ezra, I apologize for what I said. I shouldn't have suggested it. It's just it seemed we were running out of time."

"There is no doubt about that."

"But that's no reason to expect you to be the one to do this crap. I didn't like the idea this time, but J.D. was driving me nuts … "

"He was … difficult, upset. Understandably so."

Chris looked at his pale friend. "Do you want me to help you back into your bed?"

Ezra gave it some thought, then said, "Ah believe that so long as you handle me gently, that Ah will be fine."

"Let's give it a whirl."

"Let's not do anything of the sort. Slow and easy."

Slowly and easily, Chris had Ezra laying on his side, facing his bucket, and Chris watched him as he sat in the rocking chair. It looked like the southerner would still be able to vomit at any moment, he looked that sick and pale. But then again, Chris had seen the man drink to excess and look pretty bad and still be standing on his feet.

"Tell ya what. Why don't you, me and Vin take some time to go over some situations that we might face and come up with some actions that we can be ready for that don't include anyone having to put on anything with a petticoat or lacey stuff or crinolines or anything else the ladies like."

"Ah can assure you the ladies do not like the crinolines."

"Figures you would know what that is."

Ezra yawned, nodded faintly, but quickly realized that was a mistake. He closed his eyes, swallowed once, then twice. Chris pushed the bucket a little closer to Ezra's bed with his foot. But everything stayed put, and the recovering man finally spoke.

"That sounds like a fine idea." He stopped talking and seemed ready to fall asleep. He opened his eyes as he realized that Chris was still sitting there. "We can plan this planning session for another time?" he asked.

"Yep." Chris pulled his book out of his pocket and said, "Thought I'd stay a while. Do you mind if I keep the light on?"

"Be maaaaah … " the former con man was interrupted by a huge yawn. "Mah apologies. Be mah guest. Ah am rather tired." And after that, Ezra was snoring lightly.

"Ran a package to Eagle Bend, did a patrol, spent a good, long time at the poker table and then woke up before you were supposed to to help us deal with the Casey situation. And then stressin' and drinkin'. Ain't no wonder you're tired." Chris moved his chair closer to the wall lamp. It was a little close to the bed, but conveniently so for the tall man to place his legs, gingerly so as not to wake his friend, on it.

"Thanks, Ez. I promise we'll do better by you next time."

"No nex' time," Ezra muttered in his sleep.

"That's not what I meant."

"'kay."

The End.


End file.
